My, I am slipping....

Just completed an online poll on political issues, and it featured some questions on Edward Kennedy's opponent, someone with the last name of Chase, I believe.

I had no idea Ted Kennedy had an opponent. None at all.

I grew up in a home consumed with politics, and am surprised how much I don't know this election cycle.

Has All-American Apathy finally taken hold? Where can a gal get some NASCAR in these parts?!

No, I can still get my blood up thinking about That Man in the White House, so I don't think my political interest is completely gone.

Perhaps I'm just tired. I've been alive long enough to have heard decades' worth of outrages from those greedy bastards who are running things...right into the ground.

How much outrage can one gal muster? Methinks the supply is limited.

Of course, this could all be my (missing) tooth talking. Man, did that procedure ever knock me down a peg. Haven't felt this wobbly for ages, and I'm not enjoying my diminished status in the least.

Tried to take some leaves out of the gutter this afternoon, and got dizzy after only a few sections. What a wuss!

Am trying to enjoy my sloth while I may, but darn this work ethic--I can't!

Pass, purgatory and patch-a-thon

I promised to report on performances here, and have been remiss this week. It should soon be clear as to why....

Thursday night's show, the sold-out "Witches of Prospect" benefit for a breast cancer foundation, went well, particularly in retrospect. There was one problem, and it was a doozie: The mic didn't work for most of my set.

This "problem" was not a "problem" for my comedy buddy Jennifer, she of the couldn't-whisper-if-her-life-depended-on-it school. For me, however, the Midwestern gal with the pipes of a creampuff, it was a challenge. I did my best imitation of a shout for the show, and while I paid for it afterward (my throat hasn't been that scratchy since my smoking days), it worked pretty well. The folks--mostly women, as befits the charity and show theme--had a good time, and much money was raised for an excellent cause.

Altogether now: Hooray!

Friday night's show, the end-of-the-night comedy fest for the arts studio crowd in Dorchester, was far less successful. The venue was an Irish bar that had a cast of regulars who weren't really interested in ceding "their" bar to The Comedy. Plus, the people who came to see the show weren't exactly laughing types--they smiled beautifully, but the laughs just weren't in them, sadly.

I was the second comic up, and while that usually is a tough spot, my overwhelming feeling after performing was "Boy, am I glad that's over!" For as the show went on, not only was the comedy audience not warming up (much), but the regulars became increasingly restless, so I was grateful to be on and off the stage before they got their heckle on in earnest.

Jennifer, as usual, did douse the heckle a bit, and even got the subdued smilers to laugh a little, but it was tough sledding for all. By the time the closer came up, a nice guy who will remain nameless (and you'll soon see why), there was a drunken lout shouting, "You're not funny. Get off the stage and let me try."

Oh dear.

If it were warmer out, ice cream would have been the solution. As it wasn't, fries and a shake from McDonald's did the trick.

Say what you will about junk food, it does wonders for this wounded comic.

But still, a few more shows like that, and I'm going to go back to my writing group. (If they'll have me.) Life's too short and so on and so forth....

Pardon my pessimism. It may have less to do with The Comedy and more to do with the new hole in my head this week. The root canal that went bad required me to get a tooth out Tuesday afternoon, and I haven't felt myself since.

I haven't had a tooth taken out since I had braces (in the early 70s), and as we know that my drinking history pretty much wiped my memory banks clean, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

It was a very disturbing experience. Actually, it was barbaric. As my head jerked and my jaw jiggled, I found myself wondering why we as a civilization haven't found a way to take out a tooth without yanking and pulling and generally putting a person's noggin' through the wringer. Sheesh!

But just as I was about to say, "How's about a general anesthetic--this local business isn't working for me!" out it came.

And I wasn't relieved, just exhausted. (So bad comedy experiences are less awful than bad dentistry experiences--good to know.)

And then the dear dentist asked me how I feel about cows--apparently, the bone graft I needed involved cow bits. As a Wisconsin native, I answered as best I could that I was fine with cows. Though the more I think about it, the more guilty I feel, naturally.

Oh well, so now I have some cow in my jaw. Altogether now: Ewwwwwww!

And now, I must go have some soup. Solid foods are on my "to do" list, just not yet....

No such luck....

Yup, it was a cold, as my achy-sneezy carcass made plain this a.m. Took to my bed for most of the day, and happily, I feel more humanoid than I did last night.

Which wouldn't be hard, come to think.

The worst is over, so off to work I go tomorrow.

Yippee.

No, really.

On other fronts, I have heard of another venue that I may perform in in 2007, and it's not terribly far away. Since the show I'm in Thursday is sold out, diehard comedy fans might want to check out Cafe Lebanon on Main Street in Springfield. They'll be having a comedy show Thursday night the 19th, hosted by the domestic goddess who is adding her own unique brand of diversity to the suburbs of Connecticut, Linda Belt.

If you go, let me know what it's like--it's always better to have an idea of a place before one shows up there, don't you know.

But then again, flying blind adds a certain je ne sais quoi....or something. Or so I tell myself.

Please, let it be allergies...

Have a terrible feeling in my throat, and am oh-so-hoping that it's the result of sweeping a summer's worth of leaves and detrius off our cottage roof. (I was oh-so-pleased that I wasn't doing any raking this weekend, but then I saw our roof and that was the end of that...)

Between the pine needles, moss, maple leaves, and gunk--what else can one call it?--I inhaled a lot of things that don't agree with me yesterday, and am paying the piper now.

Or so I hope.

This could be a cold, but as I have no room in my schedule for such madness, I'm opting for allergies.

Tomorrow morning will be the judge. Please, let the judge be merciful!

On other fronts, I'm in two shows this week with my comedy buddy Jennifer, neither of which you'll likely see. One is sold out, the other is in Dorchester, which I think is in the Boston area but that's about all I know. For now.

Hey, the sold out show may have a repeat performance for all the folks who can't come--including you. Will let you know the date when/if it becomes available.

Now, I must take some echinasea and go to sleep. Here's hoping.....

Prevailing at Piccolo's

Well, I had no small anxiety over this weekend's shows (some of which was warranted, it turned out), but it all worked out (something I try to remember, but almost always forget).

It was a mixed couple of nights, to put it mildly. Friday night's audience was largely leaden, and at most mustered a muted moan or two at my material. Okay, that may be an exaggeration, and some people were there to laugh (bless their hearts), but most of the audience was either too tired from the workweek or too full from the restaurant's fabulous Italian fare or too (fill-in-the-blank) to laugh with abandon. Linda and I spent most of Saturday trying to figure out what was going on, and we considered everything from Catholicism to conservatism and beyond, but never came up with a satisfactory cause.

The path to madness, this second-guessing business.

Let's just say I did not leave there feeling fine, mostly because both Linda and I had work peeps in the audience. They were politely complimentary, but I knew in my heart I could have done better--I have done better. I really, really wished they had seen me in one of my better shows.

Like the show that followed on Saturday night. That show was a smashing success, for the audience was there to laugh and carry on without a moment's hesitation. One of the audience members got a little too carried away, and by the time fellow comic Andy Paquette was closing, she felt compelled to grade every joke ("That was funny!" "That was baaaaaad!"). Poor Andy. Well, actually, poor her, for Andy managed her heckles beautifully. (Or should I say mercilessly?)

But the compliments were flowing afterwards, and I felt marvelous heading home. And the fact that I did my full range of anti-homophobe material to an audience that contained a politician of the GOP persuasion made it that much more magnificent.

Yes, life and The Comedy are good.

For now.

Fan mail

This was in today's e-mail, regarding Saturday's "Girls!x3"show:

Thanks for making me and my "I don't really get jokes" girlfriend laugh.

Isn't that a nice thing to tell a comic? Made my day--no, week.

Was feeling a little anxious about this weekend's shows, but this quote will help calm at least some of my fears.

On other fronts, I have a new picture of Linus that will melt your heart like buttah--and one of Oatmeal that will do the same, if you're a cat person.

If you're neither, I don't know what to say, except I'm sorry.

Well, maybe I have to say I'm sorry anyway, for I don't have said pictures in my possession. Yet.

But as soon as I do, prepare to have an "Awwwwwwwww" moment or 50.

What was that!

This weekend has been a whirlwind. Between my brother and sister-in-law visiting for the first time This Century (I kid you not), to participating in the latest "Girls, Girls, Girls!" enterprise, to my sister and a former coworker of hers making a brief visit, I'm done in.

The brother and sister-in-law part of the weekend was wonderful--love those people to bits! The "Girls, Girls, Girls!" set went well, if quickly--I thought I had 20 minutes going in, but that's not what I had when I was through. Makes me a little nervous about next week's sets, but I'm sure I'll think of something....

Jennifer did a great job keeping it going, and I loved her new material on working in Corporate America.

Felt like a good set with a crowd that was not a sure thing--the real variable being the women from the Big Company (copyright Jennifer) who were IN THE FRONT ROW, bless their hearts. Either I ignored them or they were "good" (or crashing big time) during my set, but they chattered through other comic's sets, and that's not a good thing, really and truly. Oh well, they'll learn (or I'll learn not to tell them where I'm performing next).

And it was dear to see some friends in the audience I didn't expect to see--love that!

But the one fly in the ointment, burr in my saddle, and pain in my patoot was--you may know this already if you know me--my sister's impromptu (and tardy) visit. Am still reeling from the aftershock (her former coworker was a character with a capital "C"--still don't know whether to be charmed or alarmed, is all I can say right now).

But the good far outweighed the bizarre this weekend, and this is what I'm holding onto.

Now, I must prepare for another week at the Big Company(R).

Giving credit where credit is due

I have not properly attributed a suggestion from a young(er) friend of mine, and hereby make amends: The source of the "patch-a-thon" idea below is none other than comedy buddy and coworker Jennifer Myszkowski.

Now, my conscience is clear.

Not much else to report, except it's looking like a lot of coworkers are coming to this weekend's "Girls x 3" show.

Oh glory.....

Progress, indeed

This weekend was devoted to cleaning the house from stem to stern, which I just finished doing (except for one load of laundry), even though I started Saturday morning.

I have never set land-speed records, but when it comes to cleaning, I surprise myself at how long I take. Two days. For a ranch?

Of course, I didn't just dust and vacuum and tidy up the porcelain. I also walked and fed the dogs both days, took breaks for meals, and of course, stopped when the sun set--cleaning after sunset is something I've only done when I was moving out of an apartment and had to clean it before I fled. Or if company was coming and there was no way around it.

Well, company is coming (in the form of my brother and sister-in-law), but not until next Friday. Unless there's a hurricane or other major national disaster. My brother is in the disaster business now, and so he can plan, but God regularly takes his plans and pops 'em in the shredder.

But no matter what happens, my house is clean as it gets.

On other fronts, I spoke with a friend today who is dealing with the aftermath of a parent's death. She has a lot to contend with, but I can help with the grief part, for I remember well the fog that enveloped me the year after each parent's death. The fog lifts eventually, but the sadness never leaves. Not entirely. I miss my mother, I do. I still read things that she would enjoy, and am sad that she can't enjoy them. As maddening as she could be, I wish she were still here. Don't want you to think I don't also miss my dad. I am reminded of him every time I have a show in an Elks Club or see someone driving around with a car full of painting supplies with ladders on top.

But he isn't who I called when I saw something funny or maddening or wonderfully put. If he answered the phone, he would immediately hand it off to Mom. But he's not there to hand off the phone, and she's not there to take it from him, and that may be the proper order of things but that just stinks.

If there isn't an afterlife, I'm going to be so P.O.d. Of course, if there isn't, I won't have the ability to be P.O.'d, will I? (Such are the things that can keep me up nights, but nevermind....)

The only good thing about losing my parents is that I can be of comfort to other people who have lost parents.

One thing: This friend said that two months after the death of her parent, some people are suggesting she should be "over" it already. To this, I could only respond, "Tell them to go f*** themselves, and tell them I said so."

Now, I'm not one to drop the f-bomb unless there is no other word that will do, but anyone who would try to shame someone who is grieving deserves a verbal kick in the pants, if not a literal one. True, these people are likely uncomfortable with emotion or mortality or something that reflects the all-too-human resistance to unpleasant realities, but to suggest to someone who has lost a parent they should "snap out of it" in a matter of weeks has something broken inside. Badly broken.

It took me a year after each parent's death to get past feeling as though someone had hit me in the head with a 2 x 4. Two months?

Altogether now: What a Puddin'head.

Lastly, I dreamt of being in chemo last night with a grand group of women who I was apparently friends with, but I don't remember recognizing any of them. We were having quite a time trying on terrible wigs.

This dream is a combination of bad news I heard about a fellow dog nut in town and a documentary about the making of "Wig in a Box," a CD of "Hedwig and the Angry Inch" songs that was a fundraiser for a high school for GLBT and questioning kids in NYC. I ordered the CD, in the hopes that might end the wig references in my dreams; as to what I can do for my sister in dog adoration, I don't know....

Truer words....

My dear, departed mother, who could turn quite a phrase, often said, "Once you hit 40, it's patch, patch, patch."

Considering my recent spate of repairs, a friend of mine suggests I work on material regarding a "Patch-a-Thon."

My friend, you may have guessed, is younger than I am. My decrepitude is amusing as all heck to the whippersnapper, but to this ol' Dykesaurus? Phooey!

Seriously, I guess I don't really mind so much. Intimations of mortality are nothing new for this battered soul. But the old joke about how I would have taken better care of myself if I had known I was going to live this long has been occurring to me. Over and over again.

In the messy span that was my youth and young adulthood, I didn't expect to live much past 30. Today, I'm 17 years older than that.

Yeah, recovery is grand, but enduring--well, it can be a pain.

Let's review: I had a root canal in 2001 or so, only to have it fail last year. (Yes, the same year that I lost most of my job and was prescribed a colonoscopy, but let's not go there) I had a procedure that was supposed to fix said failure, but I learned just recently that it failed, too. So, the tooth has to come out.

Once six months have passed, I get to have an implant. There may be a joke in here someday, when I actually do get the implant and I can ask people if they can tell I've had some work done, but that may be pushing it.....

Now, my eyes have decided to slip quite a bit, enough so that I need "progressive" lenses. While I love the name, the reality is that the longer I wear them (I just got them today), the more tired and nauseous I become.

That's not progress.

Of course, this is supposed to pass--but then again, so am I!

Ah, there's always a bright spot, isn't there?

Actually, there is. I may be getting some time over at one of my favorite Boston-area clubs. There's nothing official to report, but there's hope.

And that is the best news I have. That and the fabulous "Girls, Girls, Girls!" is coming up on the 30th, and so are my brother and sister-in-law. Should be quite a show and quite a weekend.

But now, I must walk the beasts.

I knew her when!

Am pleased as punch to report a good friend of mine from my art major days (UW-Milwaukee, 1977-1979), Kathryn Siegler, is having a major show at a gallery in San Francisco. She sent me the gallery's postcard heralding the event, and it described her and her work so beautifully, it made me think, "At last, somebody really gets her and her art."

Thrilling, that. Go here to get a look at examples of her "elegant and subtle strokes" that resonate with her "keen, dry sense of humor and straightforward Mid-Western tenet...."

It looks as though a number of her works have already sold, bless 'er heart.

Way to go, Daddy-o! (In case you're wondering, we had all sorts of names for each other back in the day.)

Working on the weekend?

Somehow, I am working this weekend. Now, I know that isn't right.

But then again, neither is underemployment.

Anyhoo, I was warned that this job entailed a work deluge in the late summer/early fall, and as it is late summer/early fall, I guess this is to be expected.

Still, it seems wrong. In a word: Harrumph!

Did get to watch some of the Open, though, and was happy to see Andy Roddick advance to the final. I missed yesterday's matches, which was for the best. Justine Henin-Hardenne (she who I would not trust with a wooden nickle) and Maria Sharapova (she who is pretty, but has eyes that betray a killer lurking within) advanced, which means that Amelie Mauresmo (she who may have to allow talk of her "nerves" again) lost.

Merde.

Brought our "boy" Linus to the vet today, for he has been licking up a storm. We worried about all sorts of scenarios, but our vet's best guess is that he has allergies. Apparently, September's ragweed wreaks havoc on the canine set, and our dear son may be among the afflicted.

Just like his two mommies. Poor duck.

Lastly, to report on Thursday night's open mic seems silly, as it was a dud. Not an enormous dud, but more of a quiet dud. For most of us, I fear. The audience seemed tentative--no, maybe that was me--and it just never quite got going....or something. Even Jennifer (she who can usually rally the near-dead) had no luck, but she's been cursed with the happiness of late, so comedy is a bit of a challenge for her.

It's best left to us miserable wretches...8-(

Gratitude

My current job has been a hectic affair of late, with crushing deadlines, last-minute changes, and bureaucratic hoo-hah the likes of which I haven't seen in years.

That said, I am happy for this job. This time last year, I was underemployed and working as a temp for the local superintendent of schools. (The super? She was fabulous. The job? Not so much.) Now at least I'm making a living wage and socking money away for retirement, which at the moment can't come a minute too soon.

But I digress.

What I saw this weekend gave me something to think about every time I think my job is just a menial exercise in futility. For while I have had a lot of terrible jobs in my day (graveyard shift waitress at Bob's Big Boy, for one major example), I saw a job this weekend that made me feel oh-so-lucky in so many ways. For no matter how bad things got, I never had the job the likes of which I saw at the rest stop on the Pike. To wit: Crowd control in the ladies' room.

Yes, there is a job in which one keeps bathroom lines moving. It consists of yelling "Next!" and pointing out the stall that is vacant.

If that isn't a job to make you wonder, "What if?" I don't know what is.

But you know what else? The woman who had this terrible job of all terrible jobs was doing a fabulous job of it. She was yelling "Next" with vigor, and helping the ladies along by giving them helpful hints, like "Third door on the left!" and "Last door on the right!"

She kept that line moving, and with gusto. That was something to see.

Moral of the story: If you don't have a great job, give it your best. If nothing else, it will keep things moving along...

And on the subject of moving along, can you believe it's September already? Disturbing that may be, the good news is tomorrow night is the famous Comedy Open Mic at PACE in Easthampton. $3 for all The Comedy you can stand (maybe more). See you there!

Dyke dynamics

We took a walk with the dogs in a local conservation area this morning, and when we were almost at the end, we came across two lesbians and their children.

Of course, in this neck of the woods it could have been two straight women with sensible haircuts and their children, but they read "Family" to me.

Anyway, as we approached them, one of the women began speaking to me in a very authoritarian tone. She said something along the lines of, "Your dogs should be on leashes. I am a member of the Board of this conservation area, and we have had trouble with dogs abusing the wildlife in this area and have enacted leash laws as a result and BLAHBLAHBLAHBLAH...."

To be perfectly honest, I stopped hearing her somewhere around the "member of the Board" business, for if there is anything that's bound to close my earflaps, it's the sound of OFFICIOUS AUTHORITY. That the officiousness is coming from someone who appeared to share my sexuality didn't help a bit.

In fact, it made it worse somehow. Humorless, dogmatic dykes--goddess spare us!

I did respond that we were aware of the law, but as our dogs are at the age where we're grateful they're still walking, we chose to ignore it. They are no more a threat to wildlife at this stage of their lives than I am. (After 15 years of sobriety, the only laws I break are leash laws--ain't that a kick?)

Well, she was unmoved. I am surprised we don't have a police cruiser in the front drive, and our dogs haven't been cited for being a threat to wildlife.

Afterwards, I thought of something I wish I had said (typical), and if I had had my wits about me at the time the Board Dyke gave me an earful, I would have said, "Well, I'm a comic, and humorless authoritarian types such as yourself are an endless source of material, and I'd like to thank you. Now, I'd like to take my aged, arthritic dogs home, if you don't mind...."

The thing is, she was absolutely right. But the way she presented herself to us made me want to go out and terrorize some wildlife myself. Right in front of her. Twice.

Okay, so I have trouble with authority. This I know. So when someone gets on their high horse, I want to spook that horse and make it run toward trees with low branches so it knocks that someone right on her righteous ass.

And I know that if I were a big, burly guy with a big group of burly guys, she wouldn't have said a peep. (People have long felt free to give me lectures; I appear to have "Won't fight back" written on my forehead.)

Sigh.

On other fronts, we spent a couple of days visiting some NYC friends, and had a good time. The weather didn't cooperate with our plans (we were going to go to a festival called "Day to Be Gay"), but instead we watched the U.S. Open, and all had a good cry when Andre Agassi lost what is supposed to be his final tournament.

Nothing like a good cry over a good guy, I must say. Andre has been a delight to watch over the years, and I'm going to miss him very much.

Now, if the people who decide these things would just show us a match or two with Mauresmo.....

High maintenance, high art

My life has had several recurrent themes, but one is up for me this Sunday: People who seem compelled to inform me of their superior way of doing things. Over and over. And over. Again.

When I don't ask for their advice. Or even suggest having trouble with the topic under advisement.

Don't most people know that unsolicited advice is a less-than-worthless commodity? Or am I one of the few people who has learned this the hard way--by being on the receiving end of truckloads of it?

This insistence on sharing one's "wisdom" is one thing; it can be a way of trying to make the other's life better. However, when the "wisdom" is shared it in such a way that suggests you must be (1) an idiot or (2) resistant to what's good for you/right/"natural"/P.C. is another.

Infuriating, in a word.

But I digress.....

We saw a performance of the Mark Morris dance group at the Pillow this weekend that was just breathtaking. It was moving, it was funny, it was just a delight, from beginning to end. (Okay, I wasn't mad about one piece, but there was far, far more to love than not.)

So, there was that.

And I have put together an expanded if not comprehensive calendar of upcoming comic events that gives me great hope for the fall--should be a hoot, if nothing else.

If my job doesn't completely sap my will to live. But I digress....

Why I've been remiss

Remiss, I've been remiss!

Between working eight + hours per day during the week, then on weekends toiling on the new walk project and/or dashing out to Becket for country and culture, I have had no blog time.

You're all handling it somehow, I'm sure, but I miss this blog when I'm gone.

Linda decided we needed a better front walk. It had been an odd assortment of slate and bluestone that was too close to the shrubs for comfort, so she had a point. Thing is, she decided we should install a walk of pavers--they were called bricks in my day, but I digress.

It may be a do-it-yourself project, but it's a do-it-yourself project and MORE than a half. Two thirds, perhaps?

You don't just remove the old slates and plop down pavers. Oh no. One must excavate at least 7 inches of dirt, which entails more shoveling than I've done since I lived in NE Wisconsin and was on snow removal duty (we had a corner lot, which means more sidewalk).

Once you excavate, you then must shovel in a sand-rock mixture that forms a base. But you don't just toss it in, you must rent a monster machine called a Plate Compactor that vibrates the living daylights out of your carcass (while soaking it in small engine fumes--delightful!).

It weighs a freakin' ton, as you can imagine, and getting it in and out of the car took every last bit of ooomph I had. Maybe more. (I've been walking a little askew ever since. Perhaps it's time for a visit to my friendly neighborhood chiropractor?)

The worst part of the process? We didn't have enough of the sand-rock mixture, so had to order more. And we get to do the shovel and shimmy process with yet another Plate Compactor this weekend. Once we finish that, there's one more level of sand to put in, before we can drop in the pavers (I don't expect to do that for a week, maybe more).

Then we get to rent the Plate Compactor ONE MORE TIME, to tamp down the pavers.

My heart be still.

The good news is that we will also be going to a play at the Chester Theater, which used to be called the Miniature Theater of Chester, but decided it was too big for such a sweet name.

I don't agree. I loved going to a miniature theater, but then, I might not be their desired demographic. Sigh.

Now, must get back to work.

One last thing: There is some comedy coming up, but not until late September, early October--I'll let you know when it's "official." Speaking of official, I have been officially glued to "Last Comic Standing," even though it can be a trial to watch at times. Was thrilled at how far Michelle Balan made it, and am glad that the last two comics aren't the usual straight white guys.

Reading the news, it occurs to me we could all use a rest from them. But of course, I'm not their desired demographic, either.

I'm handling that just fine, btw.

Now Deepak Chopra?!

Is it new, or am I just noticing the rash of powerful commentaries on the dismal state of Christianity of late? A couple of days ago it was a Presbyterian pastor who induced me to write my first fan letter to a man in his line of work (he wrote back, too, bless 'im); today, it's a meditation on Christianity from Deepak Chopra, "Who Owns Christianity?" It first appeared in the San Francisco Chronicle, but you can see it on the Common Dreams website. Some excerpts:

"Did Christ teach love or is that just a liberal bias? In the current climate, it's hard to remember, but one thing is certain: Once a tight cabal of fundamentalists takes over any denomination, Christ's teachings go out the window. The reversal of Christianity from a religion of love to a religion of hate is the greatest religious tragedy of our time."

He notes that fundamentalists have corrupted Islam, Hinduism and Judaism as well, and laments that the tolerant in Christian churches have largely "stayed silent and stayed home. But that tactic failed. As healthy as it is to nourish your own devotion and faith, it's disastrous to allow extremists to take over the church, because the statehouse, the board of education, the Congress, and eventually the presidency are next."

Lastly, and I promise this is it: "American finds itself in the sad plight of being the world's most prominent secular society hijacked by sectarians."

No, I'm not writing him a letter (he makes an uncomfortable parallel between gays and sinners early in the piece), but I am glad that people with some prominence are taking on the Christians who, in a terrible misunderstanding of the Bible, are seeking to recreate the world in their own image, not God's.

Of course, Muslims, Jews, Hindus and others are likely engaged in the same.

Have people always been this insane, or are we just blessed to be living in "interesting" times?

Just wondering....

Well, it was something

I'm happy to report that my letter to the editor appeared in today's paper. I'm unhappy to report that they cut the last paragraph--apparently, it's okay for some folks to suggest that others should be denied rights, but to suggest that such folks are tyrants for wanting to deny said rights is going too darn far.

Lilly-livered lightweights!

Don't have a copy of the letter that inspired my missive around, but methinks one can easily glean the gist from my retort. I have deleted the name of the author just in case that old saw "Any publicity is good publicity" is true for bigots as well as entertainers.

The letter:

Dear Editor:

As a long-time voter who was born and raised in the U.S. and has lived here most of my life, I do have to wonder what “people” your correspondent [insert your favorite homophobe here] was referring to in his letter, “Let state’s voters decide on same-sex marriages.”

I take exception to his assumption that the “people” do not include lesbians and gays. We certainly do—and I have the passport and tax records to prove it.

“Of the people, by the people, and for the people” is fairly comprehensive, though [Mr. Homohater] apparently reads “people” as only “people like me.” That’s rather missing the point. Perhaps [Mr. Hates the Light-in-the-Loafers Set] has a different copy of these treasured documents than I, for nowhere in the Constitution or Bill of Rights do I see a footnote along the lines of, “Does not apply to gays and lesbians.”

In crafting our great nation, our founders recognized that majority rule has its limits (history is full of examples, as is today’s news). As I understand it, the judiciary plays a key part in the process of checks and balances, reining in the majority when it takes actions that are contrary to the spirit and intent of the Constitution. While he may not like their decision, the judges of the Supreme Judicial Court were doing their job—reminding people like [Mr. Blinded-By-the-Right] that people like me are citizens with rights, too.

What the paper cut:

Like many Americans, my ancestors came to this country for the promise of freedom, most particularly to be spared the tyranny of the majority religious or political system in their former homelands. They would be saddened indeed to learn that thanks to people like your correspondent, tyranny is alive and well in America, too.

Can't you just hear the "Star Spangled Banner"? Or is it, "We Are Family"?

What a turnaround!

The end of a busy, hectic and occasionally hair-raising week is a wonderful thing. Altogether now: Ahhhhhhh!

Was called by the local paper about my letter and whether I had written it--did I detect a tone in the clerk's voice, or was that just my supported-by-years-of-experience paranoia? Dunno, but the fact that they verified the source suggests that perhaps my letter will run.

Here's hoping they don't edit the living daylights out of it. Always a possibility, don't you know.

On other fronts, I wrote my first fan letter to a man of the cloth after reading a wonderful piece on the Common Dreams website entitled, "Real Christians Don't Gay Bash," by the Rev. Jim Rigby of St. Andrew's Presbyterian Church in Austin, Texas. It was balm for my little lezbo soul, I must say. While I urge you to read the entire, beautiful piece, the following excerpt offers a taste of his words and wisdom:

"In the Gospel, biblical literalists and judgmental people were the negative example in many of the stories. The point of those stories was to teach us the hypocrisy of judgmental religion. When a woman was caught in adultery, the Biblical literalists lined up to protect family values. They pointed out that the Bible literally says that adulterers are to be stoned. If Jesus took the Bible seriously, they claimed, he would have to participate in the mandated biblical punishment of an adulteress.

"Instead of following scripture, Jesus tells the woman to get her life together and tells everyone else to drop their stones of judgment. The only way to take this story seriously is to conclude that real Christians don't use the Bible to condemn other people."

And listen to this:

"It violates the teaching of Christ to say that God will get angry if America does not confront homosexuality as a sin. Jesus did not mention homosexuality and it is a lie to say he did. Furthermore, Jesus said 'judge not or you will be judged.' These false prophets are saying, 'judge or you will be judged.'

"Jesus was kind and understanding, but he was not silent about those who abused the vulnerable. He called them 'wolves in sheep's clothing.' Christians must follow the example of Jesus and confront those vicious predators who use the Christian religion as a camouflage for bullying. We must be as understanding and kind as we can be, but to be tolerant of the oppression of others is not true tolerance."

Oh my goddess, can you see why I had to fire off a "Thank you" note and a half? I thanked him for the piece, and remarked that my only regret is that my mother isn't alive to read his words--she was an industrial-strength Presbyterian, and as she never quite made peace with my sexuality, I think these words, coming from a man of her favorite cloth, might have helped ease her mind some. Alas.

Last but not least, I have been invited to NYC (probably along with 1,000 other comics) to participate in the Laughing Liberally lab on--get this--Monday nights. At 9:30 p.m. Now, as the Lab was a glorified open mic last I went, I am thinking I probably won't bother. However, if showing up for the Lab is the only way to break into the heavily heterosexual male comic lineup that Laughing Liberally seems to prefer, perhaps I need to just go down there and give it all I've got.

Or should I just wait and see if the Thursday night queer show pans out?

Ah, decisions, decisions. Hey--at least I have decisions to make here, and I don't have a vast, open void of comic dead air in front of me.

Not yet, anyway.